


Huzzah!

by baratron



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Epic Fail, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratron/pseuds/baratron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farwil Indarys, the overprivileged dark elf son of the Count of Cheydinhal, likes to think he's a knight. When an Oblivion gate opens right outside the lodge of his drinking club, he leads six brave idiots into it. </p><p>After two days in hell, only Farwil and his best friend Bremman are left. Farwil doesn't want to die a virgin, but Bremman is badly injured. What happens next? And just how rude <i>is</i> the Hero of Kvatch when he turns up to rescue them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Farwil Fails At Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt in Skyrim Kink Meme, posted by anon on 2012-10-27 14:37:  
> " _Farwil/Bremman, first time in Oblivion; neither of them wants to die a virgin. Set during "The Wayward Knight", before the Hero of Kvatch arrives to save their sorry asses._ "
> 
> Small snippets of dialogue are borrowed from the game Oblivion, for authenticity's sake. Farwil and Bremman belong to Bethesda. Alix de Feu and the five Knights of the Thorn (unnamed in the game) belong to me.

As usual, it was Farwil's fault.

We were enjoying a quiet evening, drinking cheap wine in the basement of the Knights of the Thorn Lodge, when all of a sudden Quintus Nigilus ran down the stairs. "An Oblivion Gate has opened right outside the Lodge!" he cried out.

Halfway to Oblivion myself, I laughed, thinking this a fine jest; but Quintus was most offended. "It's true! See for yourself if you don't believe me." He sank down onto a chair, accepting the glass of wine that Miles Magius poured for him. 

Farwil sprang to his feet. "I myself shall go to see whether there is any truth in this tale!". With that, he sprinted up the stairs. The rest of us barely had time to shake our heads at each other before he returned, his grey skin far paler than I'd thought possible, and the habitual sneer absent from his features. His red eyes were very wide, and terror lurked in them. He snatched up his glass of wine, and drained it in one go. Andre Motierre leaned over, and silently topped up Farwil's glass.

Our leader swallowed. "We are members of the Knights of the Thorn. We've sworn to protect Cheydinhal from any threat," he declared: loudly, and somewhat drunkenly. 

"We are Knights, sworn to uphold the laws of Cheydinhal!" he continued, his voice getting louder and louder. "We fear no being, and we strike fast and true as lightning. Many wish to join our ranks, as we are of the highest eschelon. Only a select few may join the finest force ever to grace the lands of Cyrodiil. Our enemies quake at our approach, and falter at our charge. Huzzah!"

By the final "Huzzah!" we all cheered, and stamped our feet joyfully. After all, we'd been enjoying our wine for several hours by this point.

"We must dispatch this blemish on the face of our fine world!" shouted Farwil. "It is our sworn duty! Huzzah!"

I felt slightly sick, and suddenly very sober. "Farwil, are you saying that you want _us_ to go into that Oblivion gate? Tonight?"

"Indeed! In fact, in my father's name as Count Indarys of Cheydinhal, I _order_ you to!"

Louis Dufont shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Farwil, I'm as keen to protect Cheydinhal as you are. But do we know _anything_ about Oblivion gates? Anything at all?"

Daron, who was courting a lass from the Mages Guild, spoke up. "I've heard that to close the gate, you need to get to the top of the tallest tower and take this big round stone. It's called a sigil stone, I think. When you take that, the whole world of Oblivion falls apart and you end up back where you started."

"Then it's settled!" Farwil pronounced. "Men, polish your armour! Collect your weapons! In two hours, we are going into that gate."

I thought I was going to faint. "Shouldn't we... I don't know, bring a contingent of City Watch with us? We don't know what we're going to face inside. Surely there is strength in numbers?"

Farwil laughed, harshly. "Are you joking, Bremman? They think we don't have what it takes. We'll show them! We can take the sigil stone and complete our quest for the good of all Cheydinhal! Huzzah!"

* * *

There really _was_ a portal to the demon lands right outside, and it was spewing forth daedra. Dressed in our finest steel plate armour, the seven of us fought bravely, cutting down the scamps which threatened our fair town. I still wanted to alert the City Guard, vaguely aware that scamps were the very weakest of the demons of Oblivion, but I dared not go against Farwil's orders. 

We charged through the gate and met daedra, the likes of which I'd never seen before. There were a couple of different types of lizard: one with a shield on its head which it used to head-butt us, a second that resembled a giant alligator which walked upright on two legs instead of scuttling along the ground. Each of its teeth were as long as my fingers, and it had seemingly dozens of them. Another daedra looked like a woman made of fire, and Daron whispered that this was called a flame atronach. Apparently mages liked to conjure them, although I couldn't imagine why. 

The daedra swarmed us. Andre was killed first, trying to protect Farwil who was crying like a baby. He died barely inside the Oblivion gate, his beautiful body ripped almost in two by the teeth of an alligator-creature. The rest of us stared in shock, and Louis Dufont fell to his knees in grief. The two Bretons had been close, though I wasn't sure _how_ close. I begged our commander to let us exit through the portal and return with reinforcements, but Andre's death had hardened his heart.

* * *

We entered a series of caves. Twisty, turny passages, tunnelled through the rock. It was strange: with the pools of lava, you'd have thought I'd be warm, but all I could feel was a bone-chilling cold. I knew we had to keep moving. Unfortunately six men in steel plate armour were rarely quiet at the best of times; and in our still half-drunken state, we were crashing around noisily. Certainly loudly enough to alert more of the lizard-daedra, who swept out of dark shadows to attack us. Before long both Miles and Louis were lying dead on the ground, sightless eyes staring up at the roof of the tunnel. 

Quintus, Daron, and I exchanged glances, sorely afraid. We _knew_ that all the Knights of the Thorn had been good for so far was lounging around drinking and making up stories of epic battles. We didn't even deal with thieves or bandits in Cheydinhal, since Farwil thought that was beneath us. Surely he didn't _believe_ his own hype? 

It seemed he did. Retreat would have been the sensible option, even though we'd long-since become lost in the confusing caves. I thought that if we walked stealthily and followed the trail of fallen enemies, we'd be able to return home, and summon help. Farwil made another speech in which he recycled the same tired sentiments that had got us into this mess. I'd never come so close to hating his haughty Dunmeri features as I did then. Was he going to get us all killed, rather than admit defeat?

Hours of terror went by. None of us had thought to bring food or drink. The way Farwil had spoken, we thought we would be charging into the gate and back out again within the hour. We had no idea how much time had passed, except by our bladders; which made for unreliable clocks given how many times we'd pissed ourselves in fear. Eventually exhausted, having killed all the daedra in the immediate vicinity, we crawled into a dark corner to sleep. Farwil spoke of keeping watch, but we had no idea how to arrange such a thing; with no hourglasses, how would we know when it was time to change watchman? We helped each other unbuckle the spikier parts of our armour – the pauldrons which protected our shoulders, the couters which protected our elbows, the stiff gauntlets, and the long sabaton boots - then simply collapsed in a heap. We were too afraid of being attacked in our sleep to remove any of the rest, trying to keep each other warm with the heat of our bodies.

* * *

We woke some time later, stiff and aching from having slept in our heavy armour. I looked at the others, seeing defeat in every face; even our leader's. The Dunmer's dark-grey skin made it hard to see his expression clearly in the dim light, but his red eyes were downcast. Elves generally lived longer lifespans than humans – was this the first time that he'd had to confront his own mortality? Surely not – his mother had only died recently. 

We eventually found a way out of the Oblivion Cave. There we could finally see the tower that we were heading towards: but it was at the bottom of a very steep cliff, and on the other side of a bridge spanning lava. I'm sure I wasn't the only person who contemplated suicide by falling, in preference to a drawn-out uncertain death. Instead, the four of us set off downhill the slow way, trudging down the slope, fighting more scamps and alligator-daedra as we did so. Then we came to another series of caves. Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to StellarWind for beta-reading :)


	2. In Which Farwil Fails At Romance

Daron fell in the second series of caves. When we were swarmed by two alligator-daedra at once, he cast Adrenaline Rush and charged towards one of them, to give us time to dispatch the other. The demon simply picked him up and tossed him into the lava, where he floated screaming, desperately trying to "swim" back to solid ground. By the time the fight was over, his body was so badly burned that you couldn't even see he was a Redguard. 

I wiped tears away, no longer sure if they were due to grief, fear, or frustration. Or as likely, all three. If Farwil wasn't afraid, he was even more of an idiot than I'd thought. I'd known him since he was a lad, and knew he was brash and inexperienced – but I hadn't previously thought he was _stupid_. 

We were in those caves for hours upon hours. The passageways twisted and looped back on themselves. Higher regions and lower regions of the same cave complex. Plenty of hiding places for lizard-daedra and flame atronachs. Somehow, we made it to the end – a different doorway than the one we'd entered through. Before exiting, Quintus clasped my hand – certain that one or other of us would not survive whatever lay in wait outside the cave. 

The sky of Oblivion was unchanged: the same hideous, blood-red sky with black smoky clouds. Did it _ever_ change? Was there such a thing as day and night? At least we were finally at the bottom of that cliff, thank the Nine, and facing the long bridge across to the single tall tower. There were two large gates in front of us, totally smooth, no handholds, and I wondered how on earth we were supposed to get through them. 

I needn't have wasted any time on thinking. As we arrived at the gates, they swung open – revealing daedra of a sort we'd not yet met. These creatures were huge, with reddish skin, and humanoid faces. They were wearing what appeared to be Daedric Armour, and armed with swords or bows and arrows. Worst of all, they were sentient: speaking to us in foul, eldritch voices. "Bow to me!" they cried. "Break! Bleed!"

Quintus fell on the bridge. I don't know what happened – there were three of those humanoid daedra plus an alligator-daedra, and only three of us. I fought desperately against a creature armed with a sword almost as long as I was tall; eventually breaking through its armour, but not before it had given me an almighty clout to my right knee. I collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Something was very wrong. The alligator-daedra charged towards me, its horrible teeth looming larger and larger as its jaws came closer. I held up my sword weakly, hoping to be able to stab it through the roof of its mouth – but I didn't have to. Farwil leapt on top of it, clinging tightly to its scales, stabbing perfectly through one eyeball to hit its brain. Everything went black, and I knew no more.

* * *

It was some time later. I had been unconscious for a while - I couldn't tell you how long. Farwil had dragged me to a hiding place behind rocks, opposite the long bridge leading across to the base of the Citadel. He'd also removed most of my plate armour, leaving only my chainmail and the padded clothing underneath. I felt utterly nauseated, and wished we'd realised there would be no water anywhere in Oblivion. As I groaned, I realised that Farwil had been shaking me awake. Were there more enemies nearby? 

Instead, the Dunmer leaned towards me. "Bremman?" he said, an unusual questioning tone in his voice instead of his usual bluster. His handsome face was pale, and he seemed very anxious. 

"Yes?" I replied, wincing in pain as I tried to move closer to him. Even sitting up would have taken more energy than I had. I felt as though my chest had been crushed. Had that alligator-thing fallen on me?

He bit his bottom lip, suddenly resembling a much younger boy, instead of the man in his early twenties that I knew him to be. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

I sighed. "Probably."

"Gods _damnit_!" he swore, right hand forming a fist and thumping down onto his leg. I knew he was scared and wanted to comfort him, but I hurt too much to move. I thought I'd be sick if I even tried. "I don't want to die a virgin!"

 _What?_ He was... what? He hadn't swived with any of the maids in the castle? Nor any of the footmen? I was surprised, to say the least. His aristocratic air of entitlement was so strong that I was sure he'd taken whatever he thought he could get away with. _Droit de seigneur_? I wouldn't have put it past him. 

Tentatively, Farwil reached towards my face with a shaking hand. He stroked along my jawline, scraping along the stubble that had formed during our two days in Oblivion. His uncertainty was strangely attractive. I kissed his fingertips, fascinated by the way his ash-grey skin took on a slight purplish tone around the fleshy pads. His eyes widened. His fingers slowly traced my lips, until I took pity and opened my dry mouth. He pushed a finger inside for me to suckle upon with the trace of saliva I had left. I ran my tongue along the very top, where the most sensitive skin disappeared behind his fingernail. He moaned with lust.

"Bremman?" he asked. "Are _you_ a virgin?"

By Arkay, why was he asking me _that_? "Yes," I mumbled, knowing full well why. I'd been saving myself for _him_ – for the stupid elf to finally notice my devotion to him. Fat lot of use that had been, given that we were now both halfway dead. If my injuries didn't kill me, I knew the dehydration would. 

Farwil looked at me with a tenderness I'd never seen before. His red eyes focused on mine with such intensity that they seemed to be boring a hole through me. He licked his lips nervously, trying to moisten them, before leaning over and kissing me full on the mouth. Now it was my turn to moan wantonly, as my mouth opened again and his tongue entered. I'd never felt such physical intensity before: my groin felt like it was on fire. I was suddenly glad that my armour had been removed, so my erection only had to tent against thick denim, rather than unyielding metal. 

As we kissed, Farwil grabbed fistfuls of my hair. He ran his fingers along the tops of my ears – rounded, human Imperial ears. I wondered if he wanted me to reciprocate, reaching towards his beautiful pointed ears with my dirty hands. My finger stroked his earlobe and he groaned so loudly that I thought he would summon more daedra. "Please," he begged. "Suck them".

I didn't know what he meant. I'd heard that elves' ears were sensitive, and assumed it was some sort of erogenous zone that humans didn't have. Pulling Farwil's head closer, I licked the base of his earlobe with my parched tongue, before giving up and sucking the entire tip of his ear into my mouth. Farwil made delighted noises, thrashing around with pleasure. I reached up and tweaked the other earlobe, and he convulsed. The pupils in his eyes were pulsing strangely, widening and narrowing as his focus shifted. I was ignorant of lovemaking, but certain this had something to do with physical attraction.

Why had it taken Farwil until we were gods-damned _dying_ before he could admit he wanted me? I'd been wrong. He was _the stupidest_ male I'd ever met. 

Farwil's eyes were glazed over with lust. He unlaced the fly of his trousers and pulled out his male organ. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. Not that I was an expert, but while its shape and size seemed entirely average, its _colour_ was spectacular! It ranged from a dark ash-grey where it joined his body, through a rich purple in the middle, to deep pink at the tip. It made my own pink human penis seem rather boring by comparison. He unlaced the fly of my trousers too – releasing my straining manhood, good - then started to pull them down. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, rather alarmed.

"I want to fuck you," he said, voice roughened by desire. " _Need_ to fuck you." He rolled me over onto my front.

"Farwil, I _can't_. I'm hurt. I can hardly breathe properly now, let alone with you on top of me."

He ignored me, sucking one of his fingers, before trying to push it into my asshole. I yelled, and not in pleasure. "I said 'no'!". I rolled back over, and sat up, trying to protect my bottom from any invasion.

"Then will you suck me off? Please?"

I wasn't sure. That rainbow-hued erection looked incredible, but I felt thirsty and sick, and wanted nothing more but to fall back to sleep. Farwil waved his organ in my face, and reluctantly, I opened my mouth. He thrust in, too far, and all of a sudden I was overwhelmed by the peculiar salty taste. He hit some reflex in the back of my throat, and I pushed him away, gagging, before vomiting on the ground. Something was _so very_ wrong – it had never hurt my chest to vomit before, but I was now struggling to breathe. With the last of my energy I managed to twist away from the mess before collapsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether I should warn for dub-con or not. In the end, I decided not to, since you can see Bremman's thoughts - the fact that he's been in love with Farwil forever and definitely _does_ want sex. He's just too hurt for it to work.
> 
> Next chapter: Snarky Hero of Kvatch saves the day!


	3. In Which Alix Saves the Day

There was a strange shimmering in the air. Farwil drew his sword, as if to protect us, but the spell dropped to reveal a young Breton in leather armour, with a large bag slung over his shoulders. It took me a moment to judge his gender, since he was short and slightly girlish, with red hair knotted into a long plait. He was clearly human, and his large brown eyes were full of compassion as he looked at me. 

Farwil, trying for affronted dignity despite having his genitals on display, declared, "It's about time _someone_ got here. What took you so long?"

The Breton glared at him. "Cover yourself up," he said, before falling to his knees beside me, shrugging off his backpack as he did so. "Are you all right?" he asked, carefully. "Did he... did he try to force you?"

"No!" I cried out, wondering later if I'd answered his first question or his second. "Well, yes... but I wanted it."

He looked at me with pity in his eyes. "You poor thing," he murmured. His hand brushed my forehead, and he winced. He helped me pull up my underclothes but left my trousers down.

Farwil had tucked himself away. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded of the Breton.

The redhead laughed, softly. "Yes, Farwil. Your father warned me that you were difficult, but I hadn't expected to find... this. Five dead men and one dying, while you attempted to use him for your own pleasure instead of giving first aid. Do you know who _I_ am?"

"Haven't a clue," said Farwil, tossing his hair back in disgust. 

"My name is Alix de Feu. Some people call me the Hero of Kvatch. I am the only person to have survived several of these Oblivion gates, and the only person who's going to get you out of here alive. So I think you'd better stop boasting about your noble ancestry and actually treat me like a person who matters."

"You've survived _several_ Oblivion gates?" Farwil seemed confused, for the Breton seemed too small and slight to be a mighty warrior. "With you here now, we can take the sigil stone from that citadel and complete our quest for the good of all Cheydinhal! Huzzah!"

The Breton shook his head. "You're not going anywhere, Farwil. You need to stay here and look after your friend. He's badly injured."

Farwil yelled, "In my father's name as Count Indarys, I _order_ you to lead me to that sigil stone!". Bad idea, I thought. We'd only just met this Alix, and it was already obvious to me that he wasn't someone who took well to threats.

Apparently this was hilarious, since Alix threw back his head and laughed. "I only take orders from one man, and he outranks your father." 

Farwil looked genuinely puzzled. "Who outranks a Count?" he asked.

"I am sworn to the service of Emperor Martin Septim," Alix told him. "Emperor Uriel Septim bade me find his heir before he died, and I have served His Highness ever since." I had a feeling that he was enjoying putting Farwil in his place. Though the Breton was not a cruel man: I could tell that from his gentle hands upon me and his horror at the thought that I might have been forced into sex against my will. 

My friend's eyes were very wide, and he had finally run out of bluster. Alix dove into his backpack, handing him a bottle and sandwich. "Here. Drink. Eat. Go slowly, you haven't had anything in days and your stomach might rebel."

"What is this?" gasped Farwil, utterly perplexed by this stranger and his idea of administering food and healing, rather than charging straight into battle. 

"Watered-down apple juice with a little salt. I'm sure that sounds disgusting, but it's what your body needs when you're completely dehydrated." Alix opened another bottle, then put his arm round me and raised my head, before feeding me the contents, slowly so I didn't choke. 

"It's good to see a friendly face. I feared we'd never see anyone from Cyrodiil again," I whispered.

He stroked my head and hair again as tears coursed down my cheeks. "It's okay. What's your name?"

"Bremman." I didn't have the breath for further speech.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he told me. He pulled a couple of potions out of his bag: one in a red bottle, the other green, and gave them both to the silent Dunmer. "A healing potion, and a stamina potion. Drink them both, _slowly_. I'll be really unimpressed if you throw them up." 

Alix turned back to me. "I'm going to heal you, but in order to do that I need to see how bad your injuries are. Do you mind if I take the rest of your armour off?"

I shook my head. The Breton cast some sort of spell on himself, before taking out a blanket from his bag, spreading it on the floor, and lifting me onto it. I hadn't realised he was that strong. He hauled my chainmail over my head, then the padding underneath. When my bare chest was exposed he laid a hand on it. I felt a spell of some sort pass through me and he swore, violently.

"Several of your ribs are broken. _Badly broken_. A couple of them are in danger of nicking your lungs. I've healed an injury almost this bad before, but only on myself. Gods _damnit_." He rubbed his hands over his own eyes, apparently in frustration. 

"Bremman. Listen to me. This is important. I can try to heal you, but there's every possibility that I might kill you instead. If one of those pieces of bone damages a lung, it would take a Master Healer to save you, and there won't be time to get you to one. What do you want me to do?"

"I'm dying anyway," I told him, knowing it was true from the way air was bubbling in my lungs. 

Farwil approached, and sat down on the ground next to me. "How likely is he to die if you do nothing?". He reached out, and clutched my hand.

"Honestly?" Alix glanced at him, appraisingly, before deciding on complete honesty. "In that state? I'm not certain he'll last until I get to the sigil stone."

I closed my eyes, tears leaking out of them. A soft hand stroked my forehead. Farwil squeezed my hand. "Do it," he said.

"This is going to take all of my magicka and all of my concentration," warned Alix. "And it's going to hurt like nothing you've ever experienced before. I'd give you something for the pain, but I need you to be fully conscious, so you can tell me if you suddenly find it harder to breathe. Don't say anything, don't distract me at all, unless you need to tell me that you can't breathe. Do you understand?"

I nodded, and the mage relaxed. He removed several more potion bottles from his bag, these ones blue, and lined them up. 

I can't honestly tell you what happened then. I was aware of purple and blue light surrounding my body. Pain so bad that I whimpered – had I the breath, I would have screamed. Farwil let me crush his hand when it got too much – stroking my hair, kissing my forehead, whispering in my ears. I remember at one point he actually told me, "Don't die. I couldn't stand it if you did." 

Eventually, the Breton had done everything he could. He replaced my top layers of clothing, and wrapped me in the blanket for warmth. I opened my eyes to find him desperately pale and trembling with fatigue – as if he'd transferred my injury to himself. At some point he'd wrapped a robe around himself, but he was still shivering. Each of the bottles of what I presumed to be magicka potions had been opened and consumed.

He smiled at me. "Don't look so alarmed. I'm fine."

"You don't _look_ fine," I muttered, and he laughed loudly, wildly – a little hysterically.

He wiped tears of mirth away from his eyes and said, "Sorry. That just reminded me of a conversation I had with Martin. It's strange to have the exact same conversation the other way round." He giggled again, and I was starting to think that I'd broken him. Farwil and I exchanged glances, both of us uncertain what to do with a hysterical mage.

Alix's hair had come loose. He combed his fingers through it, before replaiting it tightly. He was still laughing. Finally he stopped, and apologised. "Sorry. Drinking a load of magicka potions close together is a lot like being drunk. Tomorrow, I'll have the hangover to go with it." He hiccuped. "Do you want me to try to fix your leg?"

"Um...". Honestly, I wanted him to, but he was already exhausted. I wasn't sure how he was going to get across the bridge, past whatever daedra lurked there, and up to the top of the tower.

"It's not difficult. Just a simple dislocation. I don't even necessarily need magic to put the joint back into place, although it helps." Alix smiled.

"Well, then, yes – but as long as it won't strain you any further. If you're going to complete our journey and get the sigil stone, you'll need all of your resources." 

"Okay," said the mage, "You'll _definitely_ need pain relief for this." He handed a white potion bottle to Farwil, and told him to feed it to me slowly. Alix carefully removed my trousers, and I found myself strangely pleased to have guessed correctly why he hadn't bothered to pull them up earlier. My right knee was indeed dislocated, making my leg look oddly misshapen. 

The potion kicked in fast and I found myself dissociating from my body. Alix cast spells again – more purple and blue light, surrounding my leg this time – but I was drifting and confused. I cannot honestly tell you how long the healing took: it felt like only a few seconds. After he finished, he replaced my trousers, and started to buckle my armour back on. "You'll need all the protection you can get once I cross that bridge," he told me. "Farwil – you should put all your armour on too, and get a weapon ready. You're going to have to protect Bremman with everything you have – he's not able to protect himself."

Farwil took this unusually seriously, as if he'd gained maturity in the past half hour; replacing his heavy armour one part at a time while checking it all for damage. Alix sat next to me, holding my hand and giving me more of the salty apple juice as Farwil got ready. By the time he was fully armoured, sword in hand, Alix was no longer pale or tired; but instead, determined. He still didn't look like a warrior, someone who would go charging into battle with daedra; but there was an aura of power about him that I'd missed before.

"Let me explain to you what's likely to happen," said Alix. "I'm going to run across that bridge and up to the top of the Citadel tower as fast as I can. I'm not going to stop to fight unless I absolutely have to. The quicker I take the sigil stone, the quicker this world of Oblivion will fall apart, returning us back to _our_ world. You don't have to be with me for that to happen. You're mortals, so you'll return to the mortal world. Do you understand?"

Farwil nodded. The expression on his face was grim. "Are daedra likely to swarm across the bridge once the gate is opened?"

"I'm afraid so. They'll be looking to see who's opened it, and they'll almost certainly find you. I'd like to keep you with me, so I could cast Chameleon over you as well; but Bremman's still too badly hurt to move, and even if he wasn't, neither of you can move as quickly or silently as me because of your heavy armour." A shadow passed over his face. "I... I know it's impossible to tell the passage of time in these places, but I should be no more than an hour. If... if the plane hasn't collapsed by then, I'm most likely dead. And then it's up to you whether to try to go back to Cheydinhal for reinforcements, or to try to take the stone. Oblivion Gates are two-way, you can return to Mundus just as easily as you came here." He trailed off, obviously distressed not to be able to give us better news: though I personally preferred Alix's wary approach with multiple plans to Farwil's over-optimistic certainty.

Farwil told him, very sincerely, "A Knight of the Thorn never returns home until the mission is done. It's our way." A boast I'd heard a dozen times before, but this time, it sounded as though he actually understood what it _meant_. 

The mage nodded. "Then I can only wish you good luck. Look after each other."

He cast the invisibility spell, presumably Chameleon, which made him blend into the background, and started to run across the bridge. We were aware of this only because the gate on the other side opened, and daedra streamed across. 

Farwil fought like a demon, hacking and slashing at multiple opponents at once, using his shield for protection the way I was sure he'd been taught. I'd never before seen him put his _heart_ into a fight. I had no strength even to lift a sword, and could do nothing but lie in my hiding place, hoping not to be found. Two of those intelligent, humanoid daedra; one alligator-daedra, and one headbashing lizard daedra, and the swarm was over. 

My friend limped over to me. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine." Well, I was nauseated, but there wasn't much we could do about that. "Tired."

"Me too." The Dunmer sat down, lifting my head into his lap, and held me tightly as we waited for rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to StellarWind for beta- and proof-reading :)
> 
> If you are enjoying this story, please leave kudos or a comment!


	4. In Which Alix Gives Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of non-con, but none actually occurs.

It was the strangest thing. One minute, we were inside Oblivion, and the next thing I knew we were back outside the Knights of the Thorn lodge. The portal vanished as the Oblivion gate fell apart into a smoking ruin. Even though Alix had told us what would happen, it was still odd to see it with our own eyes. Farwil was still holding me as he had before. Since several of the city guards were looking at us, I expected him to sever contact immediately, but he didn't – he continued to hug me tightly. I have to admit, that surprised me. 

Alix was standing a little way away from us, shaking soot and ash out of his hair, and speaking urgently to Amminus Gregori. The Breton seemed to be giving orders to the Cheydinhal Guard – I heard him tell Gregori to send his fastest runner to the Chapel to fetch a healer, and the second fastest runner to the Castle to let the Count know that his son and I had survived. Although the authority in the little mage's voice was unarguable, I wondered why _exactly_ the guards were accepting orders from him. Was it because he served the Emperor, and therefore reflected the sovereignty of the Septim line; or because he had gone into Oblivion to rescue us, and survived? His presence was certainly imposing, far beyond his physical size.

I glanced around, confused. I'd expected the fallen bodies of our fellow Knights to be returned to the mortal world with us, but it was only the three of us still living who had come back. Where were the others? Were they trapped in Oblivion forever? I wanted to ask Alix, who seemed to be the expert; but he was busy securing his horse, helping Farwil onto it, then carefully lifting me to sit in front. Again, I was absolutely shocked by his strength; before I worked out that he must be using a Feather spell. It showed how poorly my brain was working that I hadn't realised previously.

Alix walked his horse slowly back to Cheydinhal, carefully avoiding dips and hollows in the ground to avoid jolting us. Once we were at the city gates, we were met by a couple of city guards carrying a stretcher. They transferred me onto it, and carried me through the streets to the Castle. Farwil followed, leaning heavily on a guard's arm, but walking under his own power. I presumed that arriving back home _upright_ must be a matter of great importance to him. Especially as I was fairly sure that the Count, his father, was going to be angry beyond belief.

When we entered the Castle, Farwil kissed my cheek lightly. "I have to see my father," he said. "I may be some time. I'll tell the guards to put you in our finest guest room." 

So that's how it would be – relegated to a guest room, albeit one used by visiting counts and countesses from other counties, and by the rulers of other provinces. I'd hoped that bringing me back to his home was a sign that I'd be brought into his life as well. Clearly that was asking too much.

Various healing and cleaning events transpired, the details of which I shall not bore you with. I was given a hot bath which quite unmanned me. The combination of the warm water and gentle hands was divine, and I found myself sobbing like a baby. Ohtesse, the Altmer healer from the Chapel of Mara gathered me to her bosom, comforting me as I cried. I felt a little hard done by – hers wasn't the bosom I wanted to be clung to, nor did I like the way she treated me like a child. I suppose I must have seemed fairly young to a high elf of middle age, but I was used to being the mature and sensible one in comparison to Farwil, damnit! I was fed broth as if I were a complete invalid, and put to bed.

* * *

I woke sometime in the night to find Alix de Feu fast asleep in a chair by my side, holding my hand. He was wearing clean clothes, neither armour nor mages' robes, but ordinary trousers and tunic in shades of green and brown. Asleep, he looked very young and extremely pretty, his soft feminine features contrasting with his harder masculine body. His hair was loose around his face - I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through the red waves. I hadn't noticed before, but his ears had pointed tips like elves', which reminded me of Farwil – and where _was_ he, damn the boy? My emotions were all jangled up, from nightmares and pain and accelerated magical healing, and to my utter horror I started to cry again. Alix jerked and woke up.

"Bremman, it's okay – you're back in Cheydinhal now. Safe, in the castle," he told me, stroking my arm.

"I know. I remember. Where's Farwil?" I couldn't help myself asking. 

"Still downstairs with his father. He did look in for a few moments, but you were out cold. I said I'd sit here with you until he can get here himself."

That confused me. " _Until he can get here himself?_ You mean, he's not just abandoned me?"

"On the contrary. The Count has him writing official letters of condolence to the families of all your fallen comrades. We couldn't recover their bodies, but I picked up their Knights of the Thorn medallions because they seemed to be important. It was the only unique thing that they had. The letters and medallions will be dispatched with a Cheydinhal city rider at first light."

I had to ask the question. "Why didn't they return when we did?"

Alix suddenly looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. "Dead people don't return from Oblivion, Bremman. Only mortals return to the mortal world." I felt ashamed, as he must have experienced other losses, which I'd clumsily managed to remind him of. Though he smiled, faintly. "Do you think you can sleep again?"

"Not yet." I was certain of that. "Perhaps we could talk for a while."

"That would be nice," he replied. "There were a few things I'd been meaning to ask you."

"Like what?" His tone had given nothing away. 

"I..." The mage seemed awkward, his mouth twisting. "Um... When I first found the two of you, I thought... Well, there's no easy way to say this. I thought he was trying to take you by force. Was I wrong?"

Ah. "I've been wondering that myself," I blurted out, before cursing myself for my honesty. Alix's eyes widened, and a horrified expression appeared on his face. "No! I didn't mean that he was going to... well, _rape_ me. He thought we were about to die, we both did. In a different situation he'd never have taken my consent for granted."

"Are you sure of that?" Alix glanced around, before muttering, "I know his father's the Count, and he's been allowed a certain amount of liberty which other men of his age wouldn't have been, but if you need protection, I can take you with me when I return to Martin..."

"No," I interrupted. "It was a mistake. You saw how he behaved later, when he realised how hurt I was. He just charged in without thinking. That's Farwil all over."

Alix nodded, relieved. "It rather does seem to be his way. Though perhaps he'll learn from this experience."

"He seems to have matured already, though whether he stays that way is another matter." I thought for a moment. "Having to write five letters of condolence should help with that."

"I do believe so. I suggested it to the Count as a suitable punishment, and he agreed. Not least of all because it should help Farwil realise what his poor father was going through while you were lost in Oblivion."

The mage was incredibly perceptive. I had to ask. "How old are you?"

"Me?" Alix was startled by the sudden change in topic. "I'm 26. Why?"

"Really? You seem so... worldly. I'm 27 and I've barely even been out of County Cheydinhal."

"I've spent weeks in every part of Cyrodiil, and I was born in High Rock. I travelled here just before my 19th birthday."

"What made you leave?"

Alix sighed, deeply. "This story isn't getting any easier the more I tell it. The short version? Where I'm from, it's punishable by death to be a man who loves men. My parents sent me here for my own safety."

"You... prefer men?" I'd never met anyone who said so openly before. Only hints and whispers. I'd known for years that Andre and Louis were close, but not whether they were lovers. It just wasn't the done thing to ask. They were Bretons as well – had they come from High Rock originally? I didn't know, and now I never would. 

"Yes, isn't it obvious?" The mage tossed his long hair back, irritably. "At least, I keep being told so."

"You _are_ beautiful," I confessed, unable to stop staring at his brown eyes and plump pink lips. His eyes narrowed.

"I'm also taken. And... I think perhaps you are as well, at least if you want to be. Farwil spoke about you at length. That's why I needed to be sure that you'd welcome his advances." 

"He spoke about me in front of his father?" 

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm just surprised. I always thought that the one thing that would forever hold Farwil back from admitting he loved me was his need to marry and produce an heir for the countship."

"Ha!" Alix laughed. "I understand that. I have... something of the same problem with my lover."

I put two and two together, and obtained an answer somewhere around fifty-six. "You're sleeping with the Emperor!"

"Don't shout!" Alix urged, blushing a deep shade of pink. "...How did you guess?"

"You call him by his first name, instead of an honorific. You don't say 'sire' or 'my lord', always 'Martin'."

"Huh. Damned by my own mouth." He looked sheepish. "Well. At least you know that I understand how you feel. Although my situation is rather more urgent than yours."

"What do you mean?"

"Count Andel Indarys is in fine health, and could yet sire more sons himself, should he wish to. Dunmer live long enough that... I don't mean for this to sound heartless, but if Farwil does grow up and look after himself properly, he will still be middle-aged when you are old. He could have a lifetime with you, _then_ marry and beget heirs. Whereas Martin is both human, and illegitimate. He needs to marry a woman of noble birth quickly to cement his own position on the throne."

"Hmm. Does he love you?" 

"With all his heart." Alix closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. "I'd be a temporary lay if that was all he needed, but he loves me at least as much as I love him. Perhaps more. He's had some horrible experiences."

I felt sorry for both of them if that were the case. "Will he be a good Emperor?"

"Yes. I know I'm biased, but... His sense of duty is stronger than anyone I've ever met, _including_ the Blades and their Grandmaster. He would die for the Empire if he had to. That's how I can be sure that he'll do what he has to, even if he doesn't like it." He shuddered.

I wanted to say something comforting. I didn't know what I _could_ say. I wasn't impatient like Farwil – I couldn't charge into a difficult conversation as rashly as he'd led us into Oblivion. Fortunately, in the event, I didn't need to say anything at all, for Alix smiled. "Don't worry about us. I'm sure we'll work something out. Martin is a very clever man. I actually had other concerns right now."

"Oh?" Whatever did he mean? He'd ascertained that Farwil and I both wanted each other, and that we apparently had his father's... indulgence, if not blessing...

He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Well... From what I saw, and what I've heard each of you say, it sounds like you're both virgins. Is that true?"

Oh gods! "Yes," I mumbled, blushing to the very roots of my hair.

"So you don't have _any_ experience of making love to men _at all?_ "

"I don't have any experience of making love to anyone!" Could the floor open up and swallow me, perhaps? I would been entirely in favour. 

"Okay, so listen... I went to the bookshop earlier, and, um... This is a sort of instruction manual. You can read it together and figure things out. And here's a bottle of oil, you'll know what to do with it when the time comes. Just remember, you don't always have to be the one who receives his cock, just because he's of higher rank than you. You might prefer it the other way round... _both_ of you might prefer it, and that's okay. Don't worry about what history and stupid romance novels say." He seemed quite vehement, and for a few seconds I speculated about Alix and Martin's sex lives before my eyes crossed at the very indignity of imagining the Emperor in bed - even though I'd never seen the man. "Keep talking to each other. Farwil doesn't seem good at communication, or planning, so you'll have to beat that into him." Alix stopped, as much as anything, because he'd run out of breath. 

"Not that I'm ungrateful for this advice, but why are you giving it to me _all at once?_ "

Alix stared at me. "I won't be here. Didn't you realise? I'll be leaving in the morning. I've been away too long and Martin will be worrying. He works himself into the ground when I'm not there to take care of him. At least I managed to find some books he doesn't already have..."

I must have looked distraught. "Can I write to you?"

"Not now. I can't tell you where our base is until Martin's ready to declare himself. You could write care of the Arcane University, but I don't know when I'll next be there to collect any letters. At least you live in a city with a Chapel of Mara. If you get really stuck, you can ask there for advice."

"Mara blesses relationships between men as well as those between men and women?" I was so naïve compared to this mage! How could I manage without his guidance? 

He grinned, boyish again. "Of course She does. And if Her priests tell you otherwise, tell them to read their own scriptures. And if they still won't help you, go and find a Chapel of Dibella. There's one in Anvil, and I'm sure it'll be safe to travel there within a few months. It would do you good to expand your horizons." He yawned, and it was contagious. I found that my eyelids were drooping.

"Get some sleep. I'll say goodbye now, for I'll be going at first light. Look after Farwil. He might be an idiot, but I think he's _your_ idiot."

I could only agree as I drifted off into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more thanks to StellarWind for beta- and proof-reading, as well as blethering about Oblivion :)
> 
> If you are enjoying this story, please leave kudos or a comment!


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